


Nature's Gift

by gutwenching



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bugs & Insects, Dark, Fucked Up, Horror, Karma - Freeform, The Author Regrets Nothing?, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 14:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19993648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutwenching/pseuds/gutwenching
Summary: There was nothing Sally wouldn’t do to get rid of the pesky, little bastards. She personally condemned all of them to hell. It was a mission she had been on for as long as her memory had served the eight short years she had spend on God’s green earth.





	Nature's Gift

Sally hated a lot of things.  
Sally hated striped patterns.  
Sally hated good girls and vibrant colors.  
Sally hated dogs with begging eyes and wagging tales.  
But most of all, above anything else, Sally hated bugs. Now, striped patterns, good girls and vibrant colors were easily spoiled, there was little effort Sally had to put into ruining pretty things. Even with dogs, a good kick against the rib case turned begging eyes and wagging tales into snarling snouts and raised hackles.  
However, crawly spiders with eight eyes and equally as many legs would not be spoiled that easily. Zooming flies who impertinently sat on her and mosquitoes who left bites on her skin in the dark of the night kept coming, no matter what Sally did to them.

There was nothing Sally wouldn’t do to get rid of the pesky, little bastards. She personally condemned all of them to hell. It was a mission she had been on for as long as her memory had served the eight short years she had spend on God’s green earth.

Father had laughed at her when she had given chase after a revolting crimson-winged lady bug, who bared five black, little dots on its small wings, with a rolled up newspaper at the young age of five.

“Nature is sacred,” he would tell her, removing the newspaper from her small fist and unrolling it, restoring it to it’s original flat exterior. “Everything that lives, lives for a reason. You’ll see.”

Sally thought her father a hypocrite. If nature was sacred, why’d he spray mom’s vegetable garden with pesticide every few months? Or, when Summer came and all insects sneakily found their way into the house, he’d hang up fly strips? She shook her head at his duplicity, and soon enough, the newspaper was rolled up again and half torn up bodies stuck to the cover. Lingering wings torn off by the impact of the blow, convulsing, hairy legs twisting until finally, death struck.

Sally was captivated by the death of these small creatures. Their drive for survival was endearing. Useless, but admirable. she could sit in front of the fly strips her father had hung up for hours, her neck craned until it hurt. With observant eyes, she spotted the flies who, unaware of what had yet to happen, rested all six of their legs on the sticky paper. She wondered if panic gushed through their little bodies, if they feared death. They would buzz, buzz even louder than their regular aggravating, energetic symptom of being alive.  
Eventually, they’d quiet down, no other option but to. Sometimes, she’d like to pluck their wings of, to see if they were still alive. If they were, she had a wing to inspect up close. If they weren’t, they undoubtedly would be, not long after the plucking.

One faithful night, after a successful day of fly massacres, Sally woke up to a buzzing sound. It sounded close, and Sally concluded it had to be near her ear. When Sally opened her eyes, determent to take out the bugger once and for all like she had done so many times before, confusion struck. Sally had never had a problem with her eyesight, so why now did everything around the young girl seem so blurry? Sally could have dreamed up endless of reasons for that, a dust particle in her eye maybe, and it would’ve made sense if she hadn’t been able to see all four, big walls of her bedroom at once. And maybe it would’ve been easier to believe if she hadn’t been the one making the buzzing sound.

Panic surged through her short, streamlined body, antennae shaking with anxiety. Her wings rubbed together, the noise setting her teeth on edge, if she had still had them. The trip to her parents’ bedroom took Sally longer than any walk there had ever taken her, but once her compound eyes spotted her mother’s familiar blonde hair, relief washed over her small body, from rubbed together legs to halteres. So, she hovered in front of her mother, wanting to scream the lungs out of this new body, but unable to. All that was produced was the desperate, low buzzing of her two wings rubbed together.

Now, flies are not the smartest of creatures, nor do they feel more than one emotion at a time if you can even consider them emotions, no matter what that fly might’ve gone through. A fly is a fly, so Sally didn’t register the rolled up TV guide in her dear mother’s hand until it had been too late.

“Pesky little fucks,” her mother muttered. And so, Sally was there, fused together with the vibrant cover of a TV guide magazine, unable to move and left to die. Her wing torn off, scattered to pieces somewhere on the dark hard wooden floor of her parents bedroom. Minutes seemed to last hours, until finally, six convulsing, hairy legs stopped twisting and death struck.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk sh*t, get hit, Sally.  
> Also, my google search results look crazy right now.  
> Feedback is very much appreciated!


End file.
